


here to help

by stag_von_simp



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Dimitri Being Bashful, Fluff, Just Me Being Sentimental, M/M, No Plot, Pre-Timeskip, Romantic Hugging, Then Post-Timeskip, Weird Parallels Being Drawn, i don't even know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stag_von_simp/pseuds/stag_von_simp
Summary: ferdinand is just here to help, even when dimitri can barely accept it.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	here to help

when ferdinand first began vying for the friendship of the prince of faerghus, he’d told himself it was obligation that billowed within him rather than desire for such a bond. after all, he _is_ a noble of the empire in every possible way–in theory, he should have no interest in the blonde, bashful twig of a prince, but he can tell dimitri needs the help of a true noble. after all, his reign as king of faerghus is creeping nearer every minute, tainting every breath he draws, and ferdinand can tell he’s a bit hopeless in that area.

dimitri is more warrior than leader, more friend than politician, more pensive and melancholy than loud and commanding. if ferdinand is anything, then he is _loud_ and _commanding_ , so really, who better to loan the prince some favors?

he approaches dimitri at a march, the first time, and flourishes his hand emphatically as he stoops into a bow. he shares his name with a voice like an owl’s, able to pierce even midnight silence. dimitri still looks more shocked than fazed by the sheer greatness of the man before him. 

“er, yes, ferdinand, i…know who you are. i’ve heard extraordinary things, of course. it’s an honor to have been approached.” but dimitri’s eyes are hopping like playful children, breezing over the whole scene, never stopping for eye contact. his fingers fiddle idly with the hilt of the sword tucked in his belt even as he speaks so eloquently. a king in everything but bearing, ferdinand allows. his job won’t be too difficult. “i suppose i’m left with one question, though. do you mind if i…?”

“ask away, your highness!” ferdinand goads, adrenaline blaring, mouth kneading into a welcoming grin.

“why…oh, this will sound rather pathetic…” dimitri feathers a laugh. _rather cute_ , ferdinand thinks, quickly blaming it on his optimistic nature rather than his shuddering heart. he’s always been inclined to see beautiful things in typical situations. he’s not thinking this way out of attraction _at all._ “…but why the interest? that is, well, i’m simply surprised edelgard allows it.”

“why would she not? besides, i have no need nor desire for her permission. i will befriend whomever is fortunate enough to pique my interest,” ferdinand declares. “and you certainly have intrigued me, my dear prince.”

dimitri’s cheeks spark with pink. “ah, i see. how generous of you. so…would you like to speak over tea? i’ve noticed you enjoy it quite a lot, and i’m sure dedue can prepare something promptly, if he’s willing.”

ferdinand agrees, of course–dimitri really is quite charming, although his fingers still paw at his sword, as if he’s straining for comfort. charming, if a bit awkward. ferdinand can certainly help him with that.

dimitri leads him to tea, thanks dedue profusely for everything that is procured for the pair (ferdinand notes this kindness consciously; a kind king is a good king, in his book. maybe striking up this bond wasn’t necessary). but then dimitri traps ferdinand’s eyes from across the table–apparently on accident, as he proves next, diving from the attention with the pink in his cheeks flickering to life anew. and ferdinand knows he certainly does have a purpose here.

“this tea is exceptional,” ferdinand comments, and dimitri chuckles. 

“isn’t it? dedue’s a magician with a kettle.”

“of course!” and ferdinand drains his glass after a few moments of content silence. he lowers his cup back to the table to see dimitri, cup steaming, staring at him curiously through the fog funneling from the rim. ferdinand tugs up a single brow, and dimitri dunks his gaze back to the table.

“i was just…well, if you must know, wondering again about your interest in me. you never…oh, nothing. ignore me.”

“i could never,” ferdinand gushes, and dimitri _squirms_ at the praise. “your highness, please. i am only here to help.”

dimitri’s eyes, cerulean as gems or raindrops or some impossible shade teetering between, are veiled now by a thoughtful mist. 

_i am only here to help._

***

five years have passed. ferdinand’s hair is a weight, bouncing along on his shoulders like a sack stuffed to its limit, and his face is heavier still with all the stress that the war has scribbled everywhere it could sneak.

his steed trudges across the battlefield–and there’s blood on ferdinand’s boots, like rust on his coat, splattered down his lance hazardously, tears littered down his cheeks and forgotten the second they were situated–with nothing in his mind but _shock._

he can clearly see the blur of battle churning around him in its comforting cacophony, but he weaves through the throng of soldiers nonetheless, lance twirling in his fingers as if of its own accord, but his mind is scrubbed blank. his ability to think is gone.

all the tunnel of his focus can scout out is the miserable bulk of the armored man, blue cape slumped over his shoulders, one eye hooded by an _eyepatch_ and the other bruised with shadows, hacking carelessly through the battle.

the blonde of his hair–oh goddess, it’s a bramble, a _mess,_ but if ferdinand touches it, it will be as silken as he always imagined–the muted glow of his eye; it _has_ to be dimitri. and that wraps ferdinand’s heart in a web of heartbroken fissures.

it _must_ be dimitri.

all of ferdinand’s faith is lunging from the scene, scrabbling from his head with every intention to never return.

he feels himself sliding from his saddle, staggering through the howling hoarde of soldiers, idly engaging, loath to kill a soul (because this is _dimitri’s_ army, and dimitri is the enemy, and he cannot hurt dimitri, he loves dimitri, his every feeling from the academy clamps down at once with fangs and murderous fury all over again, and he loves him with a passion he can’t seem to wrangle control of).

when he reaches dimitri, his knees seem to jolt free from their sockets.

there is nothing left but bones and the fear that roars in dimitri’s eye.

“who–?” and dimitri swings his lance into position, but ferdinand, on a foolish whim, lets his own weapon clatter to the ground. it thumps with the impact like a dull drumbeat, a throbbing pain, the beginnings of a headache. he hurls his hands into the air, surrendering himself, even as the battle never so much as splutters in action.

no one dares aim a hit at the king of the lions. ferdinand is safe from the army, for the most part…yet he’s never been so afraid as he is now.

dimitri seethes, snarling, lance poised, tip winking at ferdinand as it stares him down. a sob flounders in ferdinand’s chest.

“dimitri,” he puffs, only half capable of even breathing.

and his tone seems to, for a moment, hush dimitri’s screeching fury. the sharp edge of his scowl melts, dulling ever so slightly. his eyebrows crash together, concern stifling everything else he may feel.

dimitri retracts his lance. ferdinand attempts to whoosh a single, prompt sigh of relief, but what trips from his tongue instead is a desperate sob.

he wants to ask so many questions. but questions can wait.

save for the one, which he warbles now, voice a tremor in itself, a mere ripple in the vastest of blood-tinged oceans: “what has the emperor done to you, my darling?”

dimitri’s face flops between a scoff and a grimace. “don’t concern yourself with such things, minister.”

ferdinand knows they’re in the midst of battle–he knows he could be taking an ax or anything else to the back at any moment–but he hurtles into dimitri’s chest nonetheless, snaking his arms around dimitri’s broad waist.

there are arms draped around his shoulders a second later, warmer than any cloak, than any compliment that could possibly be knit. warmer than anything ferdinand’s ever felt.

“you need to get busy,” dimitri rasps. “you know, fighting, lest something happen to you.” ferdinand hums wordlessly as a means of lazy reply, before dimitri continues. “w-what are you doing here, anyway?”

ferdinand blusters a sigh against his chest, then mumbles, “i am only here to help.”

and that is answer enough, and more than dimitri could have expected.

_i am always here to help._


End file.
